Sherlock Holmes and the Vortex of London Bridge
by Johnnydspiratequeen
Summary: Lord Blackwood shows he actually has some magical talent and Holmes and Watson are thrust into 21st Century London. Better than the summary, I promise XD future H/W pairing.
1. Not in Kansas Anymore

**Sherlock Holmes and the Vortex of London Bridge **

_(A/N: I'm not sure if you'd call this a crossover or not as I have only used an idea from Kate & Leopold and combined it with Sherlock Holmes, but I suppose I'll say it is such until I am corrected. Anyhoo...this is going to take place at the end of Sherlock Holmes (2009 version) on London Bridge/Tower Bridge, whatever you wish to call it, but instead of Irene being up there with Holmes, it is Watson and it is also nighttime. Why? Because I said so and if it was otherwise, this story just would not work. So, without further ado, the story…) _

The icy night air seemed to cut through their clothes as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson chased Lord Henry Blackwood to the top of London Bridge. Newly constructed, they dodged their way around coils of rope and other such hazardous material until Blackwood came to a halt in front of them. Blackwood had stopped just short of a massive gap between the two sides of the bridge and Holmes felt a swell of triumph inside him.

Just as the great detective was about to reveal the mysteries of Blackwood's so called 'magical abilities', said Lord did something very strange. He looked at his pocket watch, and then turned and cast them an eerily wicked smile before turning and running straight for the gap. "Stop him!" Holmes cried and he and Watson took off after him. Holmes managed to grab the tail of his coat as Blackwood leaped from the bridge.

"Holmes!" Watson cried and reached out for his partner's wrist to pull him back but it was too late. Blackwood was over the edge, dragging Holmes after him and Watson who clutched desperately to his arm into the cold water of the Thames.

"Oi…" the sound came from nowhere and everywhere at once, "You alright? Sir? Can you hear me?"

Holmes made a groaning sound as his eyes opened to see an elderly man leaning over him, his kind and worried looking wife at his side. He sat up, his head swimming and his hands dug into the silt… silt? Where was he? London Bridge…he remembered the bridge…and Blackwood and…

"Watson!" he cried, leaping to his feet in an ungainly manner, nearly causing him to topple over. The other man put a hand on his upper arm to steady him and asked him if he was okay. "Where is Watson?" Holmes demanded frantically.

"Your friend, you mean?"

"Yes, yes, where is he?"

"Calm down, he's alive. We haven't managed to wake him yet though," the man replied and Holmes pushed past him to see his dear Boswell lying sprawled on the ground beside the river. He dropped to his knees beside him and placed his ear to the doctor's chest, relieved to hear the slow but strong thrumming of his heartbeat.

"Watson," he said, shaking the man's shoulder, "Watson!" he proceeded to tap his face until he stirred slightly, mumbling. "Wake up," he gave him another firm shake and the doctor finally opened his eyes, "Mm…Holmes? Where are we?"

Holmes turned and looked at the man and his wife again. What peculiar clothes they were wearing! Especially the woman who was wearing…Good Lord! Trousers? The only woman he had ever seen wear trousers was Irene Adler. They seemed to be observing his own attire in bewilderment.

"Where are we?" Holmes asked the man.

"London," he replied, looking more and more concerned; for Holmes's sanity no doubt. Well Holmes was plenty sane, sane enough to know that this was not London.

"You're quite sure?" Holmes said incredulously, to which the man pointed to some point behind the detective's head.

He turned about to see London Bridge standing there, a sight more complete than before and he became more and more confused. At first he thought that maybe this was a dream but if that was the case, he should have woken up or been able to take control of it when he realized what it was. No, everything here seemed vivid and stable, albeit bizarre.

"Who are you?" was his next question to which the man said, "Harvey and Sylvia Marsh. Do you know who _you _are?"

How insulting! "Of course! I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson!" he retorted, waving a hand towards his companion who had also risen to his feet, looking terribly confused.

Mr. and Mrs. Marsh stared at them for a moment in shock before Harvey started to chuckle, "You? Sherlock and Watson? How hard did you bump your head, son?"

Holmes blinked, unable to speak for a moment. They knew of them? But why did they find their identity so humorous? "Yes, indeed we are. May I inquire what it is that is so amusing?"

"You really haven't a clue, do you?" the man asked, his voice beginning to sound serious once again.

"Well obvious-…"

"Pardon me sir, but my friend and I have had quite the night and I was wondering if we might trouble you for a ride to Baker Street?" Watson cut in.

The man laughed more boisterously this time, taking Watson aback. "You've got to be kidding me! Baker Street, he says!"

"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but what is so damn funny?" the doctor demanded, starting to feel angry.

The man's laughter ceased and he regarded their serious expressions for a moment before saying, "Good Lord. You're quite convinced then, aren't you?"

Holmes and Watson did not reply and weren't really sure how to.

"Come on then," the petite Sylvia said brightly, "You can stay with us for now."

Harvey regarded her with momentary surprise before finally nodding in acquiescence and gestured for them to follow. Holmes and Watson trudged along after them and for the first time had the chance to fully observe the surroundings. To their surprise, on one side of the bridge were older buildings, most of which they recognized and on the other side it was a different story completely. The buildings were strange looking, futuristic with clean cut lines and many windows. But by far the most alarming were the machines they saw zooming about down the roads.

"What on Earth-…" Watson began when Holmes stopped dead in his tracks, causing the doctor to slam into his back. He was about to ask him what happened when he caught sight of it himself. Mr. and Mrs. Marsh had led them straight to one of the strange behemoth machines, and Harvey was holding the back door of it open for them. The thing was painted dark blue and it had what roughly looked like a face on the front of it with small protruding mirrors on either side.

"Is this…thing…some sort of electric stagecoach?" Holmes asked, stepping forward bravely.

"You've never seen a car?" Harvey asked, dumbfounded. Obviously, Watson thought, they were still under the impression that they had bumped their heads when in actuality; it was they who were speaking nonsense. Car! What the devil was a car?

His comrade seemed exceedingly more interested in the foreign contraption and had begun to examine it in his usual way. He gave one of the large wheel-like black things holding it up a kick and he mentioned something about rubber. Then he flicked the metal part of the…car…and sniffed the paint. Harvey cleared his throat impatiently, drawing Holmes's attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but you're supposed to get _inside_ the car."

Of course, he didn't take too kindly to being thought stupid, "I know that! It's only wise to inspect what you're about to trust your livelihood to." Harvey rolled his eyes but said nothing. Holmes continued his inspection and then climbed into the backseat. "Come along, then Watson. It doesn't bite!" he called from inside the great thing, a laugh in his voice. Watson grumbled away to himself as he cautiously took his seat next to Holmes.

Harvey took the front seat; the one with what looked like a smaller version of a wheel that steers a boat. Sylvia sat next to him and Harvey pulled out a key, inserting it into the car and turning it. Watson jumped visibly when the motor roared to life and Holmes gave an excited laugh, clapping his hands, "Excellent!" he cried, "How ingenious!"

The car lurched backwards and then forwards, causing Watson to yelp and grip onto the seat with one hand and Holmes's sleeve with the other. The latter grinned to himself, adapting easily to the monster of a machine. "This is the future, Watson," he beamed, "Imagine all of the other things to discover!"

"And imagine how much harder it will be to find Blackwood!" Watson added, feeling a bit nauseous.

"Oh posh, don't spoil all of the fun before it begins! This is going to be a real adventure, I can feel it."

"I feel something…Harvey, can you pull over?"

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_(A/N: Well? Thoughts? Please? :D) _


	2. An Insightful Tour

SHVoLB 2

_(A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You gaise make me feel special :D) _

* * *

Twenty minutes of terrifying (on Watson's part) traveling, they arrived in front of a smart little townhouse on the familiar side of London. Mr. and Mrs. Marsh led them into the foyer which had stairs leading up to a second floor.

"We only have one available room, I'm afraid," Sylvia said, "You see, our daughter left at the start of this year to study abroad and won't be back for a few weeks still."

"That's…" Watson started but Holmes quickly finished with "Fine. That's fine, thank you."

The doctor raised an eyebrow at his friend. He hadn't been about to object so why had he jumped in so fast? His thoughts were interrupted by the woman offering to give them a tour of the house. They nodded graciously and she smiled, leading them along. Harvey looked a bit apprehensive about the whole thing but he kept his mouth shut during the tour.

The first room they came upon happened to be the living room and both time-travelers gasped at what they saw. A large, black box sat along one wall, in front of which was a coffee table laden with glossy covered magazines and on the other side of that, a small sofa. Holmes moved toward the center of the room and looked at the magazines. "May I?" he asked, holding one in his hand. Sylvia nodded with a smile and the detective began to flip through the magazine, his eyes flickering quickly over the pages before looking up at Watson, his eyes marveled.

"Watson! You must come look at this!" He stepped to Holmes's side and looked down at the bizarre piece of literature. "Just look at these pictures!" Sherlock announced excitedly, "All in such vivid color!" Watson took the magazine from him to get a closer look, staring raptly at the photographs of what he assumed was the fashion of the time they were in. More women in slacks and men in odd, trim suits and sometimes trousers that cut off at the knee!

Holmes had already moved on and was fiddling with the buttons on the big black box. "Holmes," Watson started but he was shocked into silence when a picture blazed to life on the surface of the thing. Holmes had jumped, his back colliding with the coffee table as he stared in awe at the would-be screen. The people on it were in fact moving and talking! The two men stood stock-still as they stared at the images and Harvey let out a chuckle.

"That would be a telly," he informed somewhat smugly.

Holmes was too consumed to respond with a witty remark and instead replied, "Is that so?"

"What…is it for exactly?" Watson asked, timidly reaching out and touching his finger to the screen. He was taken aback when there was a slight static shock and he examined his fingertip closely.

"Entertainment," Mr. Marsh replied, obviously amused, "You watch programs on it."

"Sort of like a play, I take it?" Holmes asked, his eyes never leaving the 'telly', "Except on a screen?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Fascinating…" he remarked before standing again and looking about the room for other interesting gadgets. Watson kept his eyes trained on the television, all but hypnotized by its flashing, moving colors; though he quickly snapped out of his trance when Holmes let out a startled cry from the other side of the room. Watson jerked his head up, looking about until his gaze settled on the detective who held a long cylindrical thing with a light beaming up out of it and into his face. He dropped it in his alarm and it rolled on the floor a bit before settling harmlessly against the leg of the sofa,

The room was now filled with Harvey's booming laughter to which Holmes took great offense. "You don't have to tell me what it is, if that's what you're thinking!" Sherlock announced, picking the thing up again and clicking it off by way of a button on its side, "It's just an updated version of a pocket-lantern, am I correct?" There was no real question in his voice as he said this but Mr. Marsh answered him nonetheless.

"We call it a torch nowadays."

"Hmpf," Holmes scoffed and set the torch down on the table where he had found it, "I do believe we are ready for the remainder of the tour then if you don't mind."

They continued on to the parlor, which surprisingly enough, wasn't much different and then to the kitchen where they came across such modern marvels as a boxy thing called a "microwave" and a large, grand "refrigerator". But by far one of the most interesting things they had come across was the telephone. Both Holmes and Watson had heard of such a thing before but never had the pleasure of trying it out for themselves.

"This is a-…"

"Telephone, yes," Holmes finished for Harvey, surprising him, "I do believe it was invented in…1876? Indeed, I have heard of it."

"Then I trust you know how it works?" Mr. Marsh asked, humor edging his tone.

"Of course," Holmes sniffed, taking on an air of superiority.

Harvey looked skeptical for a moment and then shrugged, waving for them to follow on. Watson leaned in close to Holmes to whisper a question into his ear, "You don't really know how to work it, do you?"

"Well I've never done it but it couldn't be too difficult if _Harvey_ can manage it," he replied tersely.

Watson nearly laughed but he held himself in check, giving his partner a reprimanding nudge. They were on their way up the stairs now and came upon a hallway with three doors. Harvey and Sylvia led them down to the last door and opened it for them.

"This will be your room;" she said pleasantly, "Until Monica gets back that is."

The room was a nice size with a large window on the far wall. In the middle stood a queen sized bed with a dark green, neatly embroidered bedspread. The walls were covered with aging wallpaper, flowery and still pleasant to look at. The small white vanity was pristine, save for a few pictures wedged between the mirror and wood and some perfume bottles. There was a bookshelf too, filled to bursting with worn books, showing the girl was somewhat of an intellectual. There were also large, glossy posters tacked to the walls which displayed groups of long-haired men holding what appeared to be new-fangled instruments. These contrasted greatly with the sweet and bookish femininity of the rest of the room, meaning that Monica was a rebellious young lady but also still kindhearted and well-read.

"Oh look at how late it's getting!" Sylvia exclaimed, staring at her silvery wrist-watch, "We have to get going to Aunt Margaret's!"

"Hmm? Oh, right!" Harvey said, snapping his fingers in remembrance, "Go get your coat, darling."

"Sorry to cut things so short," she apologized as she left the room, "I always visit my aging Aunt on Saturdays."

As soon as she had left the room, Mr. Marsh's face turned gravely serious and he addressed Holmes and Watson with a tone of upmost importance, "I'm trusting you two not to try any funny business while we're out and I'll know if anything is missing. My brother is a police officer and a good one at that…" he was cut off by the voice of his wife calling him from downstairs, "I'm trusting you," he warned again and then was gone.

Holmes looked at Watson and Watson looked at Holmes and neither knew what they should do next.

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_(A/N: Thank you everybody for such wonderful feedback! Please continue it! :D) _


	3. In Which Toast Can be Lethal

SHVoLB 3

_(A/N: Thanks so much to everyone that has been reviewing! They all mean a lot to me!) _

They heard the front door close and heard the car's engine roar to life. Watson twirled his cane through his fingers absently as he looked around the room, at a loss for what to do next. Holmes had already begun to snoop about but didn't seem particularly enthralled with any discovery he made. Finally, Watson just decided to have a seat on the bed and was content to watch Sherlock inspect curious devices that he found laying about.

He came across a black electronic thing with a cord that plugged into the wall and fearlessly pressed the "power" button. He took a step back in surprise when loud clanging music blared from the thing, nearly startling Watson off the bed.

"What in the…" he began but the detective had already switched it back off.

"Just as I figured," he remarked with a sniff, "It's a new version of a gramophone…with new music to boot," he commented, wriggling a finger in his ear as if he was afraid he had gone deaf.

Suddenly he turned, facing Watson with a look of seriousness on his face, "Are you hungry, Watson?"

"What?" he blinked at the abruptness of the question.

"Well it's a simple enough question, dear. _Tu__es__faim_?"

"What does it matter? It's not like we can waltz down the street for some fish and chips is it? …If that even still exists…" he added, locking a solemn gaze with Holmes.

Sherlock looked positively horrified at the suggestion, "Come now, Watson! This is an advanced world…surely they still have it…Perfected it even…" He didn't sound as sure as he meant to be.

There followed a grim silence where they each secretly contemplated a world where fish and chips didn't exist before, "Right. Let's go then."

"You mean out? You can't be serious!" Watson protested.

"No, no, no…not yet at least," Holmes replied, heading for the door, "I was referring to the kitchen, old chap."

"Holmes, we can't just go rifling through their kitchen like hounds!"

"I'll be discrete," he replied nonchalantly.

Watson snorted, "You? Discrete?"

"Hah hah, you've had your fun. Let's go."

The doctor opened his mouth for another retort when Holmes seized his hand and tugged him from the bed and out the door. Whatever he was about to say went flying out of his head the moment it happened and for a reason he could not fathom, he could not stop staring at their joined hands as they walked down the stairs. They soon found themselves in the middle of the Marsh's kitchen and Holmes was already planning his next action when he realized he was still holding onto Watson.

He hastily dropped his friend's hand and Watson thought he could see the barest bit of blush on the detective's face. Holmes cleared his throat and went about his task quite normally, save for almost tripping over a step-stool and embarrassing himself even further. Watson really tried quite hard not to laugh but a chuckle still managed to work its way through his lips.

Holmes cast him a glare as he brushed imaginary dirt from his waistcoat and set about studying a shiny silver colored contraption with slots that was plugged into the wall and sat atop the counter.

He ran his finger along the counter at the base of it and flicked off what he found, "Bread crumbs… just as I thought, Watson. This is a modernized toaster."

"Well _I_ could have figured that one out," Watson teased, leaning back against the refrigerator and grinning.

Holmes looked slightly rebuffed but continued on his way to the pantry. "Ah," he exclaimed after a moment and brought out a loaf of bread wrapped in a brightly colored bag. He deposited it on the counter and started working on the tie that bound the sack together. "Well would you look at that…already sliced! Well that's convenient; one of the most practical things yet!"

He then took two pieces of bread and slid them into the slots of the toaster. "You sure you know what you're doing?" Watson asked.

"Watson, it's a _toaster_. I think I can manage." John merely gave a roll of his eyes and stood well out of the way in case something was to explode.

Holmes examined the thing for a moment before using the little lever on the side to lower the bread into the toaster. It seemed to click on then, a little red light appearing. He stood back, looking pleased enough before something else dawned on him. He approached it again, peering down into the slots at the bread and the hot coils. He gave a little frustrated sound, "Well how exactly am I supposed to tell when they're done if I can't- WAAHH!"

The toaster gave a ding and the bread popped back up, scaring Holmes half to death. He had stumbled backward, one hand groping at Watson's shoulder for support.

"Dear God! It should give you a bit of warning at least!" Watson had already dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, leaving Holmes to search for the preserves himself.

He scouted the pantry and a cupboard before he came to a halt at the refrigerator. He pulled it open and was surprised to see a light on. "Huh…" he remarked quietly, shutting it. He yanked it open more quickly this time, only to be greeted by the light once again. He tapped his foot for a moment, in thought, before inspecting the inside of the fridge where door would touch in closing. There he located a tiny switch, making a noise of triumph before going back to his original task.

There he located the jar of strawberry preserves he was looking for, remarking that it was queer to find them in the refrigerator before grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer he had come across earlier. Watson watched all this in amusement and when the toast was done, Holmes began to fill the kettle that had been sitting on the stove.

"Glad to see some things haven't changed," he said, smiling back at Watson amicably, obviously past the toaster incident.

They ate and drank their tea in the comfortable silence of people who have been together for a long time and Holmes leafed through the thin newspaper that was lying on the kitchen table. "Ah," he said after a moment, "nine people rescued from a plane crash…"

"…What's a plane?"

"No idea."

_(A/N: Sorry that one was kinda short but hopefully you enjoyed it! …Right? XD Please review!) _


	4. In Which Alarm Clocks Are Dreadful

SHVoLB 4

_(A/N: Thank you for all the lovely responses I've been getting!) _

The Bed. It sat there with feigned innocence, silently mocking the two men who stood nervously at the foot of it. Watson cleared his throat for the second time in the last three minutes and pointlessly straightened the collar of the new pajamas that the Marsh's had so kindly gifted them with. They were still adjusting to the loose, silky garments that felt so foreign and decadent compared to their usual nighttime attire.

"Well…" Holmes started, chancing a furtive glance at his companion before climbing onto the bed on all fours, "Which side do you want, Watson?"

"Um…err…either side. Which do you prefer?"

"Hmm…I think I'll take the left…" Holmes muttered and started to pull back the covers. Watson watched him, privately enjoying the sight of Holmes in modern sleepwear.

"Well?" Watson jumped and realized that his friend was already in bed.

"Oh…yes…" he moved toward the bed, albeit timorously, and crawled in next to him. Holmes clicked out the bedside lamp and they lay there silently in complete darkness.

For attempting to sleep, Holmes couldn't help but notice that his heartbeat was irregularly fast and he couldn't ignore the faint heat that had risen in his cheeks. He sniffed, just to hear something other than his own pulse and flinched at its awkward loudness.

"Well…" Watson offered lamely.

"Goodnight then, Watson," Holmes replied after a moment and turned over onto his side.

"Goodnight." The doctor still felt quite awake and found himself staring up at the ceiling for a while until he heard Holmes's breathing slow and deepen. He chanced a look at his friend whose back was facing him. A small smile graced Watson's face as he watched the subtle rise and fall of his body and suddenly felt calmer. He allowed himself a quiet yawn before closing his eyes and drifting off.

Watson awoke to the sound of the door being slowly clicked shut. For a moment he thought that Holmes had gotten out of bed but then he realized with a rush of shock and embarrassment that he currently had his arms draped around said detective, properly spooning him. His heart thudded anxiously in his chest as he withdrew his arms and made to scoot back when Holmes made a small moaning noise and pressed himself back against Watson.

The doctor let out a noise that was almost a squeak and he lay perfectly still, barely breathing as his mind raced, trying to catch up with the situation. He wasn't sure whether he should try to wake Holmes or just stay there for he had to admit, he wasn't exactly repelled at the idea of being close to him. Almost as soon as he had that thought, Holmes turned so that he was facing him, his face level with Watson's chest and he let out a contented sigh, his breath ghosting gently across John's flesh.

He couldn't repress the odd shiver that wracked his body and he cautiously placed his arms in their previous position around the detective, deciding he would move should Holmes awaken. Sherlock did nothing of the sort but instead nuzzled closer to him, making a small and endearing sleepy sound as he placed one of his own arms around Watson's middle. His heart gave a sudden lurch at the contact but he told himself it was only surprise.

After a moment, he drew back far enough to look at the sleeping man's face. He felt a flooding of warmth through his chest as he did which thoroughly confused him. Holmes's face was perfectly serene with a bare hint of a smile curving his lips and his hair was tousled even more so then usual which all gave him a rather sweet and boyish appearance. For some reason beyond Watson's understanding, he wanted deeply to thread his fingers through that dark hair and he almost tried it before a blaring noise caused his whole body to jump so much that he nearly fell off the bed.

Holmes sat up and looked around frantically as the irritating noise continued, harsh and loud. He finally located its source on the nightstand, a small modern alarm clock, and yanked its cord from the wall. The silence that descended was a welcome balm to Watson's frazzled nerves as he eased himself back down onto the edge of the bed.

"Sleep well?" he asked as casually as possible.

"I was until that blasted thing interrupted," Holmes replied, raking a hand back through his delightfully disheveled locks, "You?"

"Mmm…" was all Watson could manage as his eyes were locked on the hand that brushed back the hair. Holmes raised an eyebrow at him and John looked away quickly, clearing his throat louder than was necessary.

"Well, what do you say we get dressed and go downstairs?" Sherlock finally asked.

Watson's eyes widened considerably as he remembered that someone had obviously been in the room that morning and seen them cuddled up together like…like _lovers_… He felt his face go red and nodded agreeably before he turned away to gather up his clothes.

Holmes eyed Watson strangely, wondering what on earth had gotten into him before he shrugged and went about recovering his own clothing. They turned their backs toward each other childishly as they dressed and then made their way down the stairs. When they arrived in the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh were already sitting there, accompanied by a petite girl with short black hair that curved stylishly down over one eye and was highlighted with an unnaturally bright red. A small neon green bow stuck to one side matched her glittering and kindly smiling eyes.

"You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Watson then," she said with a grin as she took a sip from her cup of coffee.

From the Marsh's angle, they had not seen the two of them come in and so they both turned around quickly to cast their tenants bright smiles.

"Morning, gents!" Harvey greeted, "I'd like you to meet our daughter, Monica."

Monica stood from the table and held out her hand in greeting, "I came home early to surprise Mum and Dad," she explained.

"Ah, what a pleasure," Holmes said and took her hand, kissing it. Watson followed suit and they both accepted the coffee that they were offered.

Mr. Marsh pulled two more chairs from the dining room so they could join them at the table. Once they were seated, Monica started to speak again, "So Mum and Dad have already told me all about you two," she said enthusiastically as she rested her chin in her hand, "I think this whole thing is very fascinating! I used to be fairly obsessed with time travel myself. I've read tons of books over it but I've never seen such solid proof as you two!"

Watson blinked, surprised, "So you're saying you don't doubt us?"

"Well of course not!" she said, sounding affronted at the very idea.

Both Holmes and Watson felt relieved at the fact that someone truly believed them, even though that person was a rather odd young woman.

"So how exactly did you manage it?" she asked, eyes shining with eagerness.

"Well it was not our idea, I assure you," Holmes began, "We were hot on the trail of our latest foe, Lord Henry Blackwood, which led us to the partially unfinished London Bridge. He ran straight over the edge and we toppled in after him. The next thing we knew, your dear parents were there at the bank of the Thames trying to rouse us."

Monica seemed awed by Holmes's brief anecdote, "Wow," she muttered, "Oh and let me just say, it's quite the unbelievable honor to be talking to the both of you right now. I've read all of your published works, doctor."

Watson smiled in appreciation, "Well I'm glad someone likes them," he said, giving Holmes a pointed shove.

Monica giggled, "You're just as I imagined," she mused and then something seemed to occur to her, "So wait, this Blackwood guy is just running around London somewhere?"

"Yes, and it is our mission to find him and demand how to get back to our time so he can be properly executed and we can go about our lives," Watson said, thinking back to Blackwood's first hanging.

"Well I just love your clothes," the girl started, "Very Victorian chic…and I hope you don't mind me saying but, you're really going to need to dress for the times if you want to be any kind of sneaky."

Holmes and Watson looked at each other and then back at her with lost expressions on their faces, causing Monica to laugh again, "Don't worry. I can help you with that."

She then inquired with her parents if it would be alright to take Holmes and Watson out shopping later and when they agreed, the family began to discuss other matters such as how Monica's studies had been and if she had made any new friends or romantic interests. Mrs. Marsh then prepared for them a rather large and delicious breakfast that rivaled even Mrs. Hudson's.

It was after they ate that Monica decided it was time for their little shopping venture. Watson groaned inwardly when she led them outside to the car. The two men climbed into the backseat as the girl started the car. Holmes felt Watson tense beside him as they slowly started to move and he took Watson's hand, pulling it into his lap.

The doctor flushed and sputtered, "Holmes…What are you…?"

Holmes shushed him and rolled up Watson's sleeve. He then pressed his thumb at the juncture of John's hand and wrist, igniting an obvious pressure point.

"Ah! But why…" he stopped short when he realized that his nausea had started to ebb, "Holmes…" He looked up at the detective who did nothing but smile pleasantly at him and keep a firm pressure on his wrist.

"Thank you…"

Neither of them noticed Monica watching from her rearview mirror, smiling knowingly all the while.

_(A/N: Yay! Chapter four is done! I hope you all enjoyed the extra dose of fluff! Please review!) _


	5. Escalators and Awkward Pants

SHVoLB 5

_(A/N: Dadadidaaa! The long awaited shopping trip! XD) _

Escalators are very strange and frightening contraptions. They'd have to be in order to startle Sherlock Holmes. Monica had already mounted the great moving staircase, not thinking of their inexperience. She looked behind her to see the two men standing there, staring at it with uneasiness. People were starting to crowd up behind them so Watson gave Holmes, who happened to be standing in front, a gentle shove towards the escalator.

Monica laughed outright, "Come on then, Mr. Holmes. It's not as bad as all that!"

He gave her a defiant scowl before cautiously stepping onto the thing. He realized soon enough that this could not be handled as a regular staircase as one leg was awkwardly stretched behind him on a lower stair as the rest of him ascended. Watson chuckled at the sight of him to which Holmes responded, "Alright then, you try it!"

Watson warily obliged and found that he disliked escalators almost as much as cars. He, from observing Holmes, knew to keep both feet firmly on one stair and soon they were moving along steadily to the second floor of what Monica had called a "mall". She had already gotten off and it was nearly Holmes's turn though he looked frightfully at the track which was disappearing into the floor like a bad dream.

"Just jump off," Monica instructed to which Holmes gave a wide eyed look, "That's how I did it," she shrugged and as Holmes approached the end of the escalator, he took too long in his jumping, his feet catching at the edge and Watson stumbled into him, causing them both to fall over like dominos.

Monica could barely stand for laughing as she tried to help the two of them to their feet. The men dusted themselves off and clung onto any tiny shred of dignity that they had left as other mall-goers stared at them and chuckled under their breath. The staring was not new, however. They had been stared at since the moment they got out of the car, realizing for the first time how much they stood out in the modern world. It was amazing to see the lack of clothes people went around in: men and women wearing pants cut off above the knee, some people's pants were even badly torn, and shoulder length sleeves! Society of their time would have found this unforgivably scandalous but here, no one so much as batted an eye.

They followed Monica through the bustling building, staring through the windows of the stores that lined the walkways of this "mall". Suddenly, she whipped around, surveying Holmes and Watson with keen eyes before saying to the detective, "I know just what you need! Come on, we're headed to my favorite store." She took off again, this time at a faster pace and it was all Holmes and Watson could do not to get lost in the crowd.

They finally came to a stop outside a store called "Hot Topic", out of which they could hear more blaring music as such that was played from the little music contraption in Monica's room. Holmes ventured in first, Watson following and they looked about the small shop in amazement. There were odd sorts of dark clothes and some with neon colors and a vast assortment of fingerless gloves and hats as well. The man standing behind the counter with long dark hair and multiple piercings nodded his appreciation.

"Wow, looks like we got a couple of Steam Punk guys," he commented with a grin, "Coolness."

Holmes and Watson looked confusedly at one another and then smiled in response to the cashier. Monica had run off to the clothes and returned with a pair of the trimmest pants either one of them had ever seen.

"You need these," she urged, forcing them into Holmes's hands.

"B-but…" he stammered as he examined the black material.

"Go!" she ordered, "Trust me!" She gave him a shove in the direction of a dressing room.

Holmes looked reluctantly back at Watson as if begging for support but the doctor merely lifted a hand to wave. With a grimace, Holmes disappeared into the small changing room, swearing vengeance.

"Now for you," Monica began, turning to Watson, "I'm thinking these jean ones. They're not quite as tight I don't think but they've got nice British flags on the back pockets."

"Oh I don't know about…"

"Holmes is cooperating…surprisingly…and so should you!"

Being a gentleman, Watson realized he had no room to complain. This girl was doing them quite a favor when she could have just left them to fend for themselves. And so, he accepted the pants just as he heard a familiar clearing of the throat come from the direction of the dressing room.

He turned and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Holmes stood there, his head ducked in either shyness or pure mortification in his new trousers. They clung to him so tightly they might have been painted on and they had tiny silver skulls on the edges of the pockets.

"Wow," Monica said as she joined Watson in a stare, "You really do have amazing legs."

Watson, ashamedly, had been thinking the exact same thing. And then she said, "Turn around."

Holmes's head snapped up, "What?"

"Turn around, I said."

He grumbled under his breath as he turned and Watson felt a hot blush flood his cheeks.

Monica whistled at the sight of his…substantial… backside and said, "Okay, you are getting these pants and I don't want to hear a word against it."

"But…I mean, are you sure…?"

"You look fantastic. Watson, tell him he looks gorgeous in those pants." Watson, who had been in a near trance like state, had to be nudged before he responded in an all too breathy voice, "You look gorgeous."

Holmes lowered his head again, hoping they couldn't see the pink creeping onto his cheeks, "I'll get them on one condition," he said finally.

"And what would that condition be, pray tell?" Monica asked with her arms folded across her chest.

"You have to let me get some normal trousers as well."

She laughed, "Alright, agreed. Go back and get dressed, it's Watson's turn."

"Oh is it?" he asked, a mirthful grin spreading across his face as he disappeared into the room once again.

Holmes and Monica picked out some shirts while Watson changed and Monica took this opportunity to do a little investigating.

"So um…how long have you and Watson been…together?"

Holmes smiled to himself, "Going on thirteen years, I think."

Monica was gob smacked. Surely she had expected as much but to hear it straight from Holmes was still a surprise.

"We met in our early twenties," he continued as he sifted through racks of clothes, "Common acquaintance…ah but you already know that. You're a reader of Watson's work, aren't you?"

"Yes, an avid reader," she replied absently as her mind was already whirring at the soft expression that had come over Holmes's face when he was speaking of Watson.

They heard the door to the dressing room open then and the doctor stood there looking thoroughly embarrassed. The tightness of the jeans made him look even taller and thinner than before and Holmes found himself caught up in the baffling length of Watson's legs.

"You're sure this is the fashion?" he asked self-consciously.

"Yes and you look very good in it," Monica said, silently applauding her expertise.

Watson sighed, "If you say so." He turned to retreat back into the dressing room and Monica gave a squeal of delight at the British flags.

"I'd almost forgotten about those," she said, giggling at the width of Holmes's eyes and he wondered to himself _how_ exactly she could have forgotten. He found them highly distracting indeed.

* * *

They continued their shopping which brought about normal sized pants and a few much pleaded for button up shirts and many t-shirts. After a while of walking, however, Watson began to feel the ache in his leg which bemoaned the absence of his cane. Holmes, ever the perceptive detective, picked up on the little flinches of Watson's features every so often and confronted him.

"You're in pain, aren't you?" he asked.

"No, it's not so bad," Watson lied with a forced grin.

Holmes was, of course, not convinced. "Lean on me," he said, more of a demand than a suggestion.

"Holmes, I'm fine," he protested but the other man grabbed Watson's arm and flung it over his own shoulders, his arm winding itself around Watson's waist. The doctor's eyes grew wide and he could feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

"Good lord, and you said you weren't suffering," Holmes commented with a tsk, "I can feel your pulse pounding with the effort."

'If only that was the true reason,' Watson thought to himself. This day's venture had brought around some very curious thoughts indeed.

Monica chanced a glance over her shoulder and it took everything in her power not to let out a girlish giggle. 'It's only a matter of time,' she thought, 'Only a matter of time.'

_(A/N: Oh the slash, it is emerging XD Comments are adored!) _


	6. Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino

**SHVoLB 6 **

_(A/N: Next chappy! It's short but I hope you enjoy anyway! Woot woot!) _

* * *

The duo soon found themselves in a strange coffee shop that Monica had referred to as Starbucks. They sat together at a small table in the corner, the men already having changed into their new clothes: the Hot Topic clothes upon Monica's fervent request. Holmes sipped his Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino happily as Watson rolled his eyes, he himself having ordered a simple cup of coffee.

"Really, Watson, it's quite exquisite. You should give it a try," he said with a grin and pushed his drink towards Watson who eyed it suspiciously before taking a sip. He coughed in surprise, pushing it back, "Quite potent, don't you think?"

"Mm," was Holmes's only reply as he took a long drink of it and Watson just knew he would be bouncing off the walls in a matter of minutes.

Watson's eyes wandered around the shop, only to widen a moment later, accompanying a choke on the coffee he had attempted to swallow.

"What?" Holmes asked and proceeded to pat Watson on the back.

"Over there," he whispered, pointing discretely at a table behind Holmes. The detective turned around and Watson could hear his sharp intake of breath at what he saw: Two young men sitting closely to one another, chatting softly with their fingers entwined on the tabletop. He whipped back around with an uncharacteristic flush to his cheeks.

"What do they think they're doing? I mean…in public?"

Monica snorted when she discovered the source of their shock. "It's okay nowadays," she explained, "People are a lot more accepting than they used to be." She raised her eyebrows pointedly at the two of them who quickly lowered their gazes to their own cups.

After a few minutes Holmes lifted his head and said quietly, "They keep glancing at us…"

Watson looked up only to burst out laughing at Holmes who, having disregarded his straw completely, now had a cream mustache. His eyebrows furrowed and he reached up to the corners of his mouth, "Is there something on my face?"

Monica was laughing now too, much to Holmes's distress. "It's right above your…" Watson said between chuckles, "Oh just let me do it." He reached forward and swiped one thumb over Holmes's upper lip and without thinking; licked it off. Watson's eyes seemed to double in size as heat crept into both of their faces. Monica pretended as if she hadn't seen but secretly smiled to herself over the sweet exchange.

Holmes broke their awkward stare with a fumbling smile and then seemed to find the surface of the table very interesting indeed as he tried to find a logical reason for the sudden tingle of warmth in his stomach. He glanced up enough to notice one of Watson's hands was absent from the table, no doubt absently massaging his aching leg and suddenly got an idea.

"Monica, may I speak with you alone for a moment?" he asked.

She looked up, surprised but then a broad smile crossed her face. "Sure." Watson watched, puzzled as they stepped just into the mall enough that they couldn't be heard over the din. They conversed for a moment or two before Monica handed Holmes something quite furtively and she returned into the shop. Holmes disappeared into the crowd as she regained her spot at the table.

"What was that all about?" Watson asked, befuddled.

"Hm? Oh, nothing," was all she would say and Watson was far too much of a gentleman to press her any further.

Sherlock Holmes had always prided himself on his superb sense of direction but a mental compass does not help very much when you're in the middle of an unfamiliar mall, surrounded by hundreds of shops and throngs of people. He had got what he had left Starbucks for: a lovely cane of a deep cherry wood with a gold head and inlay. It didn't conceal a sword but it would serve its purpose well enough until they could find Blackwood. Best of all, he thought happily to himself, he had left it at the shop for an hour to be engraved, killing time in a place called Spencer's Gifts until then.

He turned the cane over in his hand, reading the etchings carved into the gold: _To my dear Watson. _He had no idea why he was feeling so sentimental all of a sudden but some part of him, an increasingly dominant part, wanted to show Watson how much he cared. If only he could remember how to get back to Starbucks. Luckily though, he had found the centre of the mall at which a large fountain sat so he seated himself on its edge until he could gather his bearings.

He found himself lost in thought, when he felt a presence beside him and a male voice that was not Watson's.

"Looking for someone, love?" the young man next to him asked a little too pleasantly.

His eyes instantaneously sized the man up, as he always did when meeting someone new. He was almost a foot taller than Holmes, which he found disconcerting, with rather strange hair: black but tipped with platinum blond. His eyes were hazel, his build was lanky but strong with rather large hands, and he was wearing pants very similar to Holmes's.

The strange man must have mistaken Holmes's observations for something else as he leaned closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Holmes froze, momentarily caught off guard.

"Well whoever it is, he's a fool for leaving such a pretty thing as you unattended," the man purred, "Now do you have a name or do I have to call you brown eyes?"

Said brown eyes widened as Holmes tried to scoot away, "You'll call me nothing of the sort," he said sharply and attempted to stand when he felt the man's hand close around his wrist.

"Come on, you don't have to play hard to get with me." With that, Holmes whirled around and punched him square in the nose.

The man dropped his wrist to clutch at his bleeding face, during which time Sherlock turned and walked quickly away from him. He wasn't quite quick enough however, for the man had grabbed both his shoulders and spun him around before he even had time to think but then, a fist came sailing through the air, colliding with the assaulter's jaw, causing a resounding "crack". The man fell backwards and into the fountain, down for the count.

An arm was around him and Watson was asking if he was alright. He shook himself out of his state of shock and looked up to find his friend shaking out his bloodied knuckles as he stared down at him concernedly.

"That man…he was…_flirting_ with me…" Holmes replied absently, rubbing at his upper arms where he had been grabbed. He then noticed the forgotten cane lying by the fountain and rushed over to grab it.

"And I so hoped it would be a surprise," he sighed as he held it out to Watson who looked at him in confusion, "For you."

John stared at the cane for a moment before a smile curved his stunned features and he took it into his hands, turning it over eagerly.

"There's an inscription in the gold there," Holmes said proudly and Watson looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You had it engraved?" he asked and looked down at the words.

"Well I just thought it would be a nice touch. I know it's not as nice as your other one but seeing as Lord Black-Oof!" He was cut short by a crushing hug that made his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red.

"Thank you," Watson muttered sincerely into Holmes's hair before pulling back and grinning at him broadly.

Applause erupted suddenly all around them and they came to notice a crowd of about twenty people who had stopped to watch the fight. Amongst them was Monica who let out a loud, wolfish whistle that caused them both to duck their heads bashfully.

Watson cleared his throat awkwardly before saying, "I think it's um…time to go home now."

"Indeed."

* * *

_(A/N: Yay w I must thank Majerle for her suggestions about Holmes getting lost and being hit on while he's vulnerable. XD Sheer brilliance, my friend. Anyway, please review!) _


	7. Houston, We Have a Problem

SHVoLB 7

_(A/N: Yeah I don't got much to say… so READ IT. Please?) _

The following day proved that Monica had not yet exhausted herself in showing Holmes and Watson all of the wonders of this new world.

"I'm going to take you guys to see a movie," she declared, slamming her palms down on the table in front of the two men who were drinking their tea.

"Er…what?" Watson asked, looking to Holmes questioningly.

"They come on the television sometimes," the detective said, "Why must we 'go' see one?"

"No, I mean like a new movie, one that's playing in the theatres, you know?"

They both stared at her blankly until Holmes said, "…I thought the point of movies is that you don't have to go to the theatre, seeing as they are not performed live."

She sighed in frustration. Explaining the future was turning into quite an ordeal. "Well no, it's not live you see…there's this big screen and a projector and…" blank stares all around, "Never mind, you'll see soon enough. Hurry up and get dressed."

The previous day had proved that it was easiest just to do as their mentor said, so Holmes and Watson were ready and in the car inside of an hour.

"Oh, by the way guys, what with all the extra spending I've been doing, I'd rather not pay for theatre food so…we're going to McDonalds for lunch," they remained silent and she once again felt stupid for expecting some sort of reaction.

"Is that some kind of farm?" Watson asked, perplexed.

Monica laughed out loud, "Nope, more like a restaurant."

Holmes perked up a bit at the sound of that, "With futuristic cuisine, I would imagine?" he asked hopefully.

"It depends, you ever had a burger?"

"What?"

"Exactly."

* * *

"What kind of service is this?" Holmes queried, looking about the small establishment, "I don't see any waiters."

"That's because you have to walk up to the counter to order," replied Monica as she took her place in line.

"What?"

"Holmes…"

"How the tables have turned! Do all restaurants behave like street-corner stands now?"

"No, but this is a fast food place, for people who are in a hurry or really lazy…or in my case, cheap-arse."

Holmes and Watson stayed close behind Monica until Holmes's attention was caught by a plastic case filled with brightly colored toys. He wandered over to it, appearing quite fascinated before saying, "Monica, are we getting 'Happy Meal's?"

"Ffff-No…" she replied, chuckling.

"But they give you these," he whined, pointing to the case of toys.

"Why do you need one of those?"

"Study."

"Come now, Holmes, don't be ridiculous," Watson almost pleaded.

"It's not ridiculous!" he looked slighted at the very idea, "This is for science, Watson. Science."

Watson rolled his eyes, "Holmes, just…"

"Fine, okay? Fine," Monica blurted, startling them both into silence as she approached the counter. "Okay I need a number one and a… _Happy Meal_," she added darkly, cutting her eyes at Holmes who grinned at her, "and um…you like chicken, Doc?"

"Wh- yes?"

"One McChicken and three large drinks."

"Do they have frappuccinos here?" Holmes barely whispered the question before she barked out a "No!"

They had finished their meals when Monica excused herself to go to the ladies' room.

"No, Holmes."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know you've been staring at those brightly colored tubes and slides this whole time and the answer is absolutely not."

But Holmes was already up from the table and walking towards the play-place. "I merely wish to see what they're made of, Watson; to observe modern architecture."

"Architecture? Holmes, I'm not sure you can actually consider it archi- DON'T YOU DARE!"

Alas, Holmes had already entered the blessedly empty playroom and was climbing into one of the tubes.

"I'm not coming in there to save you when you get stuck," Watson said tersely, facing back towards the table. There was no response and after about a minute he was starting to feel anxious. With a muttered curse, he finally got up and followed him.

He poked his head into the tunnel that Holmes had previously entered, calling out his name. He waited. There was no response. He heaved an angry "I can't believe I'm actually doing this" sigh and climbed in after him.

He crawled along, his height being a bit of an issue in the confining tunnel but continued to call his friend's name. He passed by a large plastic bubble of a window, just in time to see Monica coming back from the restroom and spotting him, her jaw dropping to the floor. He tried to make some kind of reassuring gesture, failed, and decided to just move along. The tunnel opened to a net that connected it to another tunnel. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if he, indeed, had to crawl across it. He looked around and to his dismay, saw no other way across.

The crawl across was awkward and unstable and his knee was really starting to throb from the pressure. He resolved to kill Holmes if he ever made it out alive. The second tunnel happened to be a bit smaller than the first, causing Watson to lower himself to an army crawl, bringing back harsh memories of his war days and he suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic. He tried to get back up when he felt his shoulders wedge against the sides of the tunnel. His gut twisted sickeningly and he tried to move but to no avail, he was stuck. He tried to wriggle around and then the wriggling turned to thrashing and finally he fell forward and onto his face. With a grunt, he dragged himself forward and around a corner.

There he saw it, an opening in the tunnel! Excited for an escape, he picked up his pace, only to have the ground seemingly rent from under him and he was sliding headfirst and screaming all the while. He found himself hanging halfway out of the slide and noticed a familiar pair of shoes in front of him, peeking out from under a pair of ripped jeans. Slowly, he lifted his head to find Holmes there, licking at an ice cream cone and looking at Watson like he had flipped his lid.

"Where the hell were you?" Watson demanded, pulling the rest of his body out of the slide.

"Uh…I went for ice cream," he said, showing him the cone.

"How long were you in there?" he asked, gesturing madly toward the tunnels.

"About a minute and a half."

Watson felt his face flush as he ground out through gritted teeth, "Ten minutes. I was up there for _ten minutes_ trying to find you."

"…I thought you weren't going to come and save me," Holmes quipped with a sly smirk.

"Yes well…um..." Watson cleared his throat, brushed out his shirt, and inelegantly left the room.

* * *

The ride to the theatre involved Monica reprimanding them for their utter lack of social grace and Holmes whining because he had gotten a girl's toy in his Happy Meal.

"What in blazes is My Little Pony?" he asked, turning over the small pink horse in his hands.

"Give it a rest, Holmes."

"But they had Ben 10!"

"WE'RE HERE!" Monica shouted, swerving sharply into a parking space, "Honestly, you two bicker like a married couple!"

Holmes laughed lightly, ducking his head and hoping the embarrassing flush on his face was unnoticeable. Watson was set to chuckle when something dawned on him, 'Married couple…Married…_Mary_.' He barely contained the gasp of the woman's name that escaped him at the realization that he had not once thought of his wife-to-be. Holmes shot him an odd look at the shocked expression on his face. _Holmes_… Watson couldn't explain why the sudden remembrance of Mary dropped like a cold stone into his stomach.

Holmes and Watson had settled into their theatre seats and knew not what to expect. At first, it just looked like a large TV screen with music playing lightly in the background. But then, the lights lowered, the screen adjusted and images flashed onto the screen, a preview, loud noises and music and everything was exploding and unsurprisingly, the two men were startled out of their wits. Holmes's hand had accidentally latched onto Watson's wrist in a panic, causing the doctor's mind to go fuzzy for a moment before the blasting ended and Holmes quickly retracted his hand, keeping his eyes firmly on the screen.

Thankfully, the feature presentation didn't include any exploding. It was actually quite light and humorous and both were enjoying it until there was a…disruption…in the row in front of them. A young couple had engaged in a passionate display of necking accompanied by soft moans which earned them "shushes" from farther down the row. They cared not and proceeded to kiss quite openly, the woman nearly crawling on top of her gentleman companion.

Holmes and Watson were stunned to say the least, not wishing to look but they were being quite hard to ignore. Watson cleared his throat unnecessarily, his hands clenching and unclenching on the armrests. There were thoughts stirring in his head…thoughts that he was scared to explore…thoughts that didn't involve Mary until her face blazed before him in his mind's eye, glaring at him accusingly. He swallowed hard and tried his best to ignore the couple.

He was soon alleviated, however, when Monica leaned over and kicked the back of the man's seat roughly, "Oi! Some of us are trying to watch the movie!"

The young lovers gave her dirty looks but the presence of Monica's two male companions and the applause that had erupted around the theatre quieted their objections. The rest of the film continued, uninterrupted.

* * *

Holmes couldn't help but notice the way Watson had been nearly unreachable all evening. He only responded occasionally and sat pointedly farther away from him in the car. Watson thought that he had not heard his sudden revelation before the movie but he had. He knew he was thinking of Mary and then with disgust, remembered the couple in the theatre. He was probably thinking of that woman and missing her the whole time and now he was distant.

When it came time for bed, Holmes lay on his side, facing away from Watson, unable to sleep. Inevitably, the same question kept circling through his head: _'What does she got that I haven't?' _He felt silly and childish to be thinking this way, _'Of course Watson wants her. She's his fiancée, she's polite and pretty, and moreover, she's a woman. He doesn't put up with her like he does you…he loves her. You're mad to even consider…' _

"Holmes," Watson sighed, roughly pulling the covers toward himself, "you're such a blanket-hog."

He had meant it to be playful, meant for Holmes to respond with a clever jibe but instead, his voice was dangerously quiet, resigned, "I'm sorry. I'll sleep on the floor…"

"W-what? Hey, I was just…you don't have to!" Watson pleaded apologetically but Holmes had already risen and grabbed his pillow. He pulled the throw from the end of the bed and curled up on the rug in a miserable ball. He did nothing to stop the tears that prickled in his eyes and trickled over his nose.

_(A/N: OMG did this story just get DEEP? XD Anyway, I have a couple people to thank for their lovely ideas! Majerle and Newly-Revived, thank you guys so much!) _


	8. In Which Watson is Confusing

**SHVoLB 8 **

_(A/N: Sorry this took so long but here it is!) _

Holmes crept out of the room before Watson had awakened and made his way downstairs. As he passed the kitchen, he could smell coffee but saw no one about. The room with the television was thankfully unoccupied as well so he sat down on the couch and flicked the thing on. He flipped through the channels absentmindedly, finally coming to a stop on some show with lots of movement, perhaps dancing but he couldn't find it in himself to pay it any kind of attention.

He breathed a deep sigh, his chest giving a dull ache. He reached up to touch it through the shirt, half expecting to find a hole there but of course, there was none.

"I thought you disliked ballet."

Holmes jolted upright at the sound of Monica's voice. He glanced over to find her casually leaning on the door frame as if she had been there all day. The woman was a ninja! Sherlock glowered at her and then back at the screen, realizing that it was indeed, ballet. He gave a grimace of distaste but did nothing about it.

Monica sat down next to him, a cup of coffee in her hands. _'Well that explains that.' _"Holmes…" she said quietly, angling her head so she was in the line of vision of his downcast eyes, "What's wrong?"

"What the devil do you mean?" he asked, his jaw clenching in aggravation.

"Come on, Mr. Detective. Give me some more credit than that! I can tell when someone's been crying all night."

Holmes sniffed and glanced away from her but it was too late. She knew. "It's just…allergies…" He flinched at the terrible excuse and knew she wouldn't believe it for a minute. _'Confound women and their blasted intuition!' _

"Really?" she mused, tilting her head to the side, "I haven't noticed you sniffling before."

"Yeah well…I'm temperamental?"

"And I suppose that would also account for the raw tear-tracks at the corners of your eyes."

_'Damn it!' _He fidgeted uncomfortably, feeling as if he would blurt something out at any minute.

"Come on, Sher-Sher, you can tell me anything," she merely grinned when he cast her a murderous glare. "It's Watson, isn't it?"

He felt his blood freeze for a moment and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're in love with him and you don't know how to tell him but he accidentally thwarted your feelings last night and now you've lost all hope. Is that it?"

Holmes found himself choking on air while Monica calmly sipped her coffee.

"I…Can't believe…you…How…?" was all he could manage.

"Hey, it's just what I do. All my friends call me 'Matchmaker'."

"I never knew I was such an open book," he said bitterly, chin in hand.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

He thought about it a moment and then shook his head, "This is ridiculous, I'm behaving like a lovesick fool."

"There's nothing ridiculous about it, it's natural. I'm sure Watson will come around if you just…"

"He has a fiancée, okay? He's getting married!" he groaned, rubbing at his sore eyes where hot tears had begun to prickle. He would not cry again! He wouldn't!

Monica placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and remained silent for a moment before, "You guys don't know how long you'll be here. It could be days or it could be months, either way you have time. Heck, I guess there's even the chance you won't go back at all! But don't worry about it. I know how much he cares about you. I even knew it when I read the books. He'll come around."

With that, she got up and left Holmes to his thoughts.

Watson woke to an empty bed but then remembered about Holmes sleeping on the floor and guilt gnawed at his insides. He got up, expecting to see the other man asleep on the rug, but he was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, he left the room and padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Monica was there, pouring a bowl of cereal for herself and when she looked at Watson, it was with irritation.

"Err…good morning?" he said timidly, confused as to what he had done wrong.

"Indeed," she muttered, placing the milk back in the fridge and carrying her bowl over to the table.

"Have I done something? Did Holmes tell you about sleeping on the floor? Because I didn't tell him-…"

Her head snapped up and her eyes were fierce, "He what?"

Watson swallowed hard, realizing he had backed himself into a corner, "He did but I didn't tell him to! God no, I was just joking!"

Monica's eyes narrowed in skepticism but then she lowered them and uttered a dangerous, "I see…"

Watson fidgeted uncomfortably but she said no more to him. Cautiously, he moved to pour himself a cup of coffee and the girl remained silent. He sat down at the table across from her, nervously stirring his beverage and keeping his eyes trained on her as if awaiting an explosion.

After a few minutes of silence he dared to ask, "Do you know where he is? He was already gone when I woke up."

"Yes."

"…Well?"

"The last time I checked, he was watching the television," Watson rose to leave, "but I wouldn't go in there if I were you." He resumed his seat.

"Why not?"

"I don't know if he would want me to tell you this but he's a bit…upset."

"I assumed as much but I don't know what I did to him."

"That seems about right," she said quietly.

"Did he tell you?"

She looked at him for a moment, considering, and then said, "I can't tell you that but what I can tell you is: make it right as soon as possible."

Watson half-growled in irritation, "How am I supposed to make it right if I don't even know what I did?"

"Hey, that's up to you. Go with your gut. But I will say that a grand gesture of some sort wouldn't be a bad idea." She put her bowl in the sink and left the room.

John's thoughts were racing, trying to come up with something…anything that would make it right between him and Holmes. His hand moved to massage his injured leg absentmindedly when a thought sprang into his head.

"A grand gesture," he said to himself and he remembered the cane that Holmes had so caringly provided for him…and that's when he knew what he must do.

"Monica!" he called, darting out of the kitchen.

"Holmes…Holmes!" The man woke with a start to find Watson standing in the doorway, holding something behind his back.

Holmes sat up, his back stiff from having fallen asleep on the sofa. "What is it, Watson?" he asked, trying not to look directly at him incase his eyes were still red.

"I have something for you."

This however, took him off guard and he stared at Watson questioningly. The other man revealed what he had been hiding behind his back and Holmes knew the black box immediately to be a violin case. John came towards him and placed the case on Holmes's lap. Sherlock stared at it for a second, and then back at Watson who nodded and smiled. Timorously, he reached forward and unlatched the case, drawing back the lid.

He couldn't restrain the gasp that escaped him, earning him a chuckle from Watson. Carefully, he lifted the delicate instrument from its bed and marveled at its beautifully sloping lines.

"A Stradivarius…" he breathed, turning the violin over in his hands again and again.

"Yes," Watson grinned.

"What…How did you get this?"

"I bought it of course."

"_You _bought it?"

"Yes."

"…Watson, would you mind telling me the time?"

The doctor reached for his pocket out of habit and froze, his face flushing.

"You sold your brother's pocket-watch," Holmes stated quietly and Watson nodded, "And that is what afforded you to buy the violin."

"Well…not entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"I sold my old clothes and shoes to a museum as well."

Holmes gaped at him for a moment, trying to reason out what on Earth could cause Watson to do such a thing. "Watson…I…can't accept this. If you're trying to make amends of some sort, I assure you it is unnecessary."

He tried to hand the violin back to Watson but he shoved it back into Holmes's hands. "No. I wanted to do it. I was glad to do it," and it was the truth, "I want you to have this."

Holmes shook his head, looking down at the instrument in his hands. He couldn't understand why! Watson didn't love him because he quite obviously still loved his fiancée and Holmes hadn't really done anything to deserve this so…he must be feeling sorry for him. It stung.

"Watson, if this is your own special brand of pity then I don't need it," he said, his voice acquiring a sharp edge.

Watson's mouth dropped open and he tried to find his voice again, "Pity? You think this is _pity_? Why would I be feeling sorry for you?"

Holmes felt his face heating up and knew he was dangerously close to some kind of precipice. "Sometimes, Watson, I really do not understand you! It's quite infuriating! I think you've finally met some kind of revelation but then I realize that you're just as dense as ever!"

"Dense!"

"Why! Tell me why you did this! Explain to me why a man would go out of his way to win someone's affections if he doesn't love them!"

Watson's eyes widened to mirror Holmes's. The detective sat rigid as a board, not believing he had just let that slip. He knew he was red all the way to his ears and tried to make an escape with what little piece of dignity he had left. However, Watson's hand caught his, holding him there.

Holmes closed his eyes, his head bowed away from Watson and he wondered how much more of this he could possibly take. His heart throbbed in his chest and he fought the urge to curl his fingers around Watson's.

"You think I do not love you?" It was barely a whisper in the dark room.

"Just forget it. There's no way to make you understand…" he tried to wrench his hand from the other man's grasp but Watson held firm.

"Try."

Sherlock swallowed and he could feel his free hand tremble nervously.

"Make me understand."

The words echoed in his head which was spinning and the room was suddenly so hot and before he had time to plan it, he whirled around and captured Watson's lips in his own. Fireworks exploded behind his closed eyes but all too soon, he pulled a way for fear of Watson's reaction. The doctor stood, blinking dumbly at Holmes, a very becoming shade of pink blooming across his cheeks.

Holmes wrung his shaking hands as he stared at him, "Watson, I do wish you'd say something."

Watson however, in one fluid motion, slipped his hand around Holmes's head, his fingers knotting in his wild hair and pulled the man into another kiss. A startled sound escaped Holmes but it soon died away as Watson's lips were moving against his and his mustache was tickling him in such a pleasant way and all his muddled thoughts melted like the rest of him.

When they finally pulled apart an inch or two, they were both panting and Holmes dropped his head to Watson shoulder, his arms winding their way around him. Watson returned the embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to Holmes's neck.

"Oh this is soo going on YouTube," Monica giggled as she put away her phone.

_(A/N: Hot plate of crumpets! It finally happened! XD) _


	9. Much PDA

**SHVoLB 9 **

_(A/N: Hey you guys! So sorry bout the long wait and I hope this isn't crap!) _

Watson could feel himself nodding off to the sweet melody of the song Holmes was currently inventing as he went along. It was quite rare to hear something so beautiful being played by Holmes, Watson being accustomed to the incessant plucking and nonsensical drag of the bow across the strings that could drive a less patient man insane.

But this was nice. This sounded happy and there was a gentle smile on Sherlock's face as he finished. He opened his eyes to Watson's grinning face and outstretched arms, beckoning him to come to bed. Holmes gave a somewhat bashful chuckle and set down his violin before climbing into bed and into Watson's waiting arms.

"You really like it then?" John asked once Holmes was snuggly nestled in his embrace.

"I adore it," he replied, briefly inhaling the sent of Watson's neck, "but it's not the greatest gift I've received tonight." He looked pointedly up at the doctor who just laughed and pushed his fingers through his partner's hair.

"You've become very sentimental all of a sudden."

"I know," Holmes said with some amount of distaste, "Look what you've done to me!"

They laid together in comfortable silence for a moment before, "Holmes…do you think we'll ever get back to our time?"  
"Hmm…yes I believe I do."

"And why is that?"

"Well, whenever we actually come across some evidence of Blackwood, we should be able to corner him just as easily as last time and extract the secret of the portal before we kill him."

"Kill him?"

"OR take him into custody, which ever you'd prefer, my dear Watson."

"I might also bring up that we didn't so easily corner him as you say we did. He did, after all, come back from the grave or so to speak."

"Technicalities."

Watson snorted, "Whatever you say, Holmes, whatever you say."

"Precisely."

Quiet fell over them once more and Watson found himself in a rapt observation of Holmes's profile bathed in moonlight. His eyes followed the outline of his tousled hair and long lashes, down over his nose and to his lips…

"Watson, don't you think I can feel you staring at me?"

He jolted, having thought he was asleep. "Well stop faking sleep if you don't want to be stared at!"

"I didn't say that I minded, Watson, I was simply wondering why you prefer to stare at my lips instead of kiss them."

"Well if that's what you wanted, you only had to ask. I would be more than glad to oblige."

Holmes was working up a retort when Watson leaned down and captured his lips, causing his brain to go quite fuzzy and incoherent. The smaller man timidly parted his lips, allowing Watson into a deeper kiss. He had decided before to let Watson take the lead in the matter of kissing until he had gained more personal experience himself. Though of course, it wasn't much of a sacrifice.

When Watson pulled back, he was pleased to see Holmes's flushed face and hazy eyes, his mouth parted in a sort of awe; for once, he was speechless.

"Well goodnight then," he said cheerily as laid back down, pulling the covers around him. It was with no small amount of pride that he witnessed the look of utter surprise and desperation on the detective's face before he closed his eyes.

"W-Watson, what? …You can't just…" he gave an angry huff at being ignored and finally turned the other way, balling himself up in a childish display of spite.

John barely managed to contain his mirth, enjoying his moment of dominance and hoping it would not be his last.

* * *

Holmes tossed the newspaper back onto the breakfast table with a petulant noise of frustration.

"Anything wrong, Holmes?" his partner asked over the rim of his coffee mug.

"Blackwood might as well have disappeared! There is absolutely no news of anything that could possibly correlate with himself or his plans," he kneaded his temples fiercely, a look of intense consternation on his face.

"I'm sure we'll hit onto something sooner or later, old boy. In the meantime, I wouldn't worry until virgins or members of parliament start turning up missing."

Holmes still seemed insecure about the whole thing and Watson could practically feel his restlessness in the drumming of his fingers on the table.

"How about we go for a walk?" Watson suggested for probably the millionth time in the history of their relationship.

What he did not expect though, was to see Holmes's eyes suddenly widen with interest and a slight bit of mischief. He decided not to question his sudden acquiescence. He would take mischievous Holmes over depressed Holmes any day.

"You know, Watson, I think a walk is exactly what I need."

* * *

London was already moving with throngs of people, bustling their way to work. Holmes breathed deep of the air which still held such familiarity, even hundreds of years later. No matter how much he despised the humdrum of everyday life, he couldn't help but love his city in all its foggy glory.

Watson looked equally pensive as he strolled along beside him, cane tapping well-known patterns on the sidewalk. But for all his literal presence, he still seemed distant and Holmes was bound and determined to change that. It was why he had agreed to come along after all.

John gave a start when he felt the other man's hand slide into his own and hold on firmly.

"Holmes!" he scolded, looking affronted, and tried to yank his hand back.

Sherlock, however, refused to relent, "Calm down, Watson, nobody's going to arrest us. No one is even going to stare!"

The doctor's eyes still darted to and fro as if he were about to be caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, but he didn't try to move. Clearly pleased, Holmes then took it a step further by lacing his fingers through Watson's.

The taller man did nothing but lower his head a bit in a vain attempt to conceal the becoming pinkness in his cheeks. The truth was, he himself, didn't mind a bit. Actually, it felt quite wondrous and fulfilling to hold Holmes's slender hand in his own; but the publicity of the stunt was making him as nervous as a school boy.

"Watson, your palm is sweating," smirked Holmes.

"Well perhaps your hands are too warm!"

"No, I seem to recall you saying they were too cold."

"When did I say that?"

"Nearly every time our hands come into contact…oh and also last night."

"L-last night?" Watson nearly choked.

"In your sleep. I believe it was something along the lines of, 'Ahh! Holmes, your fingers are so cold!'"

Watson was nearly twitching with mortification as the dream came flooding back to him in glorious snippets. The last thing he knew, he was thinking about how much he enjoyed dominance and then there was…well…_that_.

"You should really tell me about it some time," Holmes continued with an air of upmost arrogance, "It sounded like quite a doozey."

_

* * *

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(A/N: And that's about it for now XD Lol sorry again for the wait and please review!)


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